It started, as these stories often do, with a breakup. Not the polite kind—the “we’ve both grown apart, and this is for the best” kind. Nope. I got the Hollywood disaster version, complete with late-night shouting, poorly chosen text messages, and a level of emotional carnage that left me wondering if my neighbors had unwittingly subscribed to a live-action soap opera. By January of that year, I had gone from “happily in love” to “crying into a pint of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla at 2 a.m.,” which, if you’ve never done it, is equal parts delicious and humiliating.
But as it turns out, that breakup wasn’t really the thing that broke me. Oh no, that came later. Over the next twelve months, a parade of disasters rolled through my life. Work stress set up shop in my psyche like a squatter who’d found a cozy corner. Some well-meaning meddling by friends (bless their hearts) led me to discover my ex was already dating someone else, just weeks after we split. My car broke down an hour outside Montgomery during a rainstorm, leaving me alone on a backroad, soaked and cursing like a character in a country song. And perhaps most cutting of all? Cheesecake Factory stopped serving my favorite seasonal flavor. (It’s the little things, y’all.)
By December, I’d officially hit rock bottom—or, as I like to call it, “The Year Everything Fell Apart.” But here’s the thing about rock bottom: once you’re there, you’ve finally got a nice, flat surface to start building on. By the time New Year’s rolled around again, I’d learned how to put myself back together. Not perfectly, mind you—I’m a human, not IKEA furniture. But enough to make me realize that sometimes, tough seasons become turning points. Let’s talk about what I learned.
Step 1: Let Yourself Fall Apart (Briefly, and With Dramatic Flourish)
Look, I know the inspirational Instagram posts are all “keep your head up!” and “good vibes only!” but sometimes the best thing you can do is crumble like my mama’s buttery cornbread. There is a strange kind of freedom in leaning into the mess for a little while. I let myself ugly cry, shut the blinds like a hermit, and spent entire weekends binge-watching “The Golden Girls.” My therapist—an endlessly supportive, wisdom-toting wonder woman—assured me this was healthy. “Give yourself time,” she said. “You’re grieving what you thought your life would look like.”
She was right. Grief isn’t exclusive to death. It shows up in heartbreak, in disappointment, even in the tiny realizations that you’re not where you thought you’d be. Give yourself room to feel it all. Then, when you’re ready, start putting the pieces back together.
Step 2: Redefine Your Comfort Zone (Spoiler Alert: It’s Bigger Than You Think)
After the breakup (and the rainstorm car breakdown that solidified my belief the universe had it out for me), I realized I’d been limiting myself for the sake of staying comfortable. I’d leaned on my relationship so heavily it became a crutch. My routine revolved around him—his hobbies, his friends, even his coffee order. (By the way, almond milk lattes are overrated. That’s one hill I’ll die on.)
So, I started small. I joined a local book club, nervously shuffling into a room of strangers with a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird tucked under my arm like a security blanket. Somewhere between arguing the merits of Scout Finch and sharing my mama’s pecan pie recipe, I remembered how much fun it was to connect with people. Next, I returned to a long-abandoned hobby: gardening. Something about getting my hands dirty and nurturing life out of Alabama soil felt, I don’t know, poetic. It was messy, sure, but oddly healing too.
Expanding your comfort zone doesn’t require grand gestures or dramatic reinventions. It’s about small, sustained courage. Ask yourself: what’s one thing I’ve been too scared (or too stuck) to do? Then give it a go, even if your hands shake.
Step 3: Reclaim Your Narrative (And Maybe a New Pair of Boots While You’re At It)
Let’s chat for a second about power. No, not the Darth Vader kind (though, wouldn't it be nice to summon a lightsaber on bad dates?). I’m talking about reclaiming the story you tell yourself about your life. For way too long, I’d let my inner dialogue sound like the “before” scenes of a makeover montage: self-doubt, insecurity, and a lot of staring forlornly into mirrors.
The turning point for me came during a solo weekend road trip to the Alabama Gulf Coast. Armed with a playlist featuring Dolly Parton, Brandi Carlile, and just the right dash of Lizzo, I drove with no specific plans other than eating seafood and watching the sun sink into the horizon. Somewhere between the fried shrimp and the ocean breeze, it clicked: I didn’t need someone else to make my life beautiful. I could do that all on my own.
True story: that weekend, I also bought a pair of red cowboy boots in a little boutique by the water. I didn’t need them, but they made me feel bold, powerful, and just a teensy bit dangerous. Sometimes, reclaiming your story means splurging on something ridiculous that makes you feel like the main character. Highly recommend.
Step 4: Find Your “Why” (Beyond Other People)
One of the hardest lessons I learned that year was this: you can’t outsource your self-worth. Believe me, I tried. After my breakup, I threw myself into casual dating with the reckless abandon of someone double-texting at 1 a.m. But with every bad first date and lukewarm coffee chat, I realized I was looking for validation in all the wrong places. My “why” couldn’t come from someone swiping right—it had to come from the inside.
So, I asked myself: What brings me joy? Not “what brings my ex joy?” or “what would make my friends think I’ve got it together?” but me. For me, the answer was writing. It’s how I’ve always processed the world, from scribbling in notebooks as a kid to piecing together oral histories from strangers as an adult. Writing has been my anchor, a way to make sense of life when things seem too big to hold.
Commit to finding your “why,” even if you don’t have all the answers yet. Maybe it’s art, or hiking, or becoming the reigning champion of your local trivia night. Whatever it is, chase it down like your happiness depends on it. (Pro tip: It often does.)
Step 5: Laugh. A Lot. (Even When it Feels Like the Last Thing You Want to Do)
If there’s one thing the South taught me, it’s the importance of humor. Life can be a mess, heartbreak can break you, and sometimes your entire year feels like a series of unfortunate events. But in the words of my aunt, “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry—and nobody likes a blotchy face.”
Sometimes, the laughter will find you—like when I walked into the wrong Zoom meeting at work and sat in on a heated debate about soy milk legislation for half an hour before realizing my mistake. Other times, you’ll have to go looking for it—say yes to karaoke nights, scroll through unhinged TikToks, or find joy in the absurd chaos of life itself. Whatever you do, don’t let the hard stuff steal your humor.
When I think back on that year—the one that unraveled me, unceremoniously—I don’t think of it as a loss anymore. In hindsight, it was a clearing, an invitation to rethink who I was and what I wanted. Yes, it was messy. Yes, it was tear-streaked, awkward, and anything but perfect. But it was also transformative. And here’s the kicker: if I could survive that year, honey, I can survive just about anything. So can you.
